For Her...
by I s i s3
Summary: A short POV piece about the complicated relationship between Faith, Angel and Buffy.


  
For Her...  
  
  
The city lights flash below me as I sit alone next to the window, car head-lights flashing in blurrs of amber and red down the semi-crowded streets despite the fact that it is 3 in the morning. 'LA, the city that never sleeps' my brain registers without emotion. I close my eyes listening the soothing song of the traffic, hearing the strangely comforting sirens wailing several blocks over, merge with the roar of engines and club music from bars on the upper east side. LA seems to pulsate with energy like a living creature. No wonder it is so appealing to lost and wounded souls like us. The ability to get lost in the throng of people who also look like they've got the weight of the world on their shoulders does have it's advantages.  
  
I turn to him, watching him start to stirr from the position he's been lying in for hours. As he streches the thin sheets slip further down his back, fully revealing his vivid tattoo, bathed in moonlight. The pale illumination stresses the alabaster of his sun-starved skin and the white blankets on the unmade bed that we shared just a short while ago. I shake my head as if to physically remove the memories of his cool skin warming beneath my palms.  
  
But still they hit me full force, the image of his reverant and smiling face through the blur of tears that sprung to my eyes. The look in his eyes as we made love that portrayed such overwhelming devotion but at the same time was so far away. No. No, it was just sex. Nothing more. That much is obvious to me now due to the fact that despite our intimacy and apparent love for each other, Angel sleeps as soundly as a child only a few metres from me, still very much possessing his soul.  
  
I do realize how selfish it is of me to be dissapointed at this. To wish, even in the smallest fraction, to release the demon that is Angelus onto the world would be despicable. What kind of slayer would I be? But every second he lies there undisturbed a tiny part of me withers and dies.  
  
In the heat of passion the consequences of our actions never entered our minds, but afterwards I came back to my senses and waited for his inevitable 'turning' with an unsettling calm. I have been sitting here for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to leap bolt upright and release the primal scream of his humanity being torn from his body, preparing for the awakening of the evil within him. But it never came.   
  
I know why I feel like this. Because of Her. Her presence has been unexplicably hanging over me ever since I entered Angel's hotel when she should have been the furthest thing from my mind, as if he carries a small part of Her wherever he goes. I begin to shake as I once again recall the look on his face as he pushed into me, gripped by rapture but still so distant. The slightest whisper as we climaxed that could have been Her name caused ice water to course through my veins. It was so quiet I questioned if he had even said anything at all, but I still could not rest. I lay awake, all the pieces suddenly falling into place.  
  
She hung over me, Her beatific face taunting me that I would never, could never connect with Angel as much as she did. It explained his expression of overwhelming love that looked at but never really saw me. It had all been for Her...  
  
As much as I want to hate her I can't. I want to feel the fire of disgust I once felt for her, so strongly that I wished to destroy her very being, but it won't come. We who are sisters in battle, who understand each other so completely that we even love the same man. I once thought Angel and I were soul mates, having gone through the same things and being so similar to each other. We are kindred. But he will always love her first, and it saddens me that I can do nothing but surrender to that fact. I wonder if she realizes how strongly he still feels for her even though they haven't seen each other in so long.  
  
Tears starting to well in my eyes again, I rise from the creaking wicker chair and start to pull on my clothes. I pause and debate for a minute over whether I should put on his shirt, and decide that he owes me this much. After all, he has given so much of himself to her...  
  
In my haste I didn't notice him waking and turning to face me, my slight frame eclipsing the moonlight from the window.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asks through sleep distorted vision, raising a palm to rub over his soft eyelashes.  
  
I ignore him, avoid looking at him. Quickly gathering my possessions I make a bee-line for the door of the bedroom. He immediately realizes why I'm upset and fixes his gaze on a point past my shoulder. I almost laught at the bitter irony, 'He's looking through me again...'.  
  
The emotion finally overcomes me and the tears spill down my cheeks, painting defiant blotches on my... his shirt.  
  
As I walk away for what we both know is the final time he starts, fumbling to gather the sheets around his waist in a belated attempt at modesty. Trying to salvage the last shred of friendship and affection between us he stands to head me off at the door.  
  
"Don't leave like this. We need to talk..."  
  
Allowing my chin to fall against my chest I silently say goodbye to Angel for the final time. The chance of a relationship with him shattered by a night that should have brought us closer, and the realization that, once again, I will only be second best in his eyes. I close my ears and heart to his pleas for me not to go. I know if I turn around I will sacrifice my final piece of dignity and that severing all connections with him is for the best. I can't face again the love in his eyes, for Her. I shed my last tear for my broken connection with Angel as he cries my name, begging me to stay, but I don't want to listen.  
  
"Please, talk to me. I'm sorry... Buffy!?..."  
  



End file.
